What do you say when they say “What do you do?” I say I play theblues on my red kazoo. That I teach yoga to yahoos. That I have a ranchin Australia where I breed blue suede kangaroos. I steal women’s shoesand sell them to perverts over an 800 line. I do gardening with lasers.I clean houses with plastic explosives. I’m on welfare. I’m on heroin.I’m on parole. I teach the art of Ninja to ninnies. I’m a professionalidentity designer. Nothing, I’m rich. Nothing, I’m emotionally crippled.I’m a media mogul who moonlights as a Chippendale dancer. I manufactureladies lingerie for Frederick’s of Krakow. I play golf with beatniks.I design then live in the cities of the future... which sometimes takes allafternoon. I sell gizmos to gooks. I wholesale freeze-dried mail orderbrides. I design Boy Kaddafi’s stage outfits and sometimes read him hisfan mail. What do I do? Well, I’m waiting for this think tank thing tocome through so I can get tanked and think of new ways to screw citizensout of the dollar or two they’d like to use to buy brew but instead goesto you know who. I loot shopping malls in radiation zones. I cruisethe art zoos looking for what’s new in mutations. I sell crack at theUnited Nations. I don’t have just one occupation. I’m an amalgamation,a confederation, a conspiracy and a conglomerate. I do what I have to dobecause I’m a man... that’s spelled M – A – N. I don’t do anything,I’m just a writer.

SUDDENLYfor Roy Castleberry

Suddenly I was no longer petrified of being lucid. Suddenlybeing wet and hungry and a thousand miles from home held no furthersurprises. Suddenly the summer swooped down like a raven unto abig juicy hambone. Suddenly it was winter again, and there we werewith a half-gallon of frozen cactus juice. Suddenly the Blue Absolutelygranted us a reprieve. Suddenly, without even a warning grunt, thewounded warthog of real life lowered its head and charged. Suddenlyyou were stricken with tusk luck. Suddenly sensation swelled and thewhite room hushed. Suddenly enlightened bloat seemed adequate but wekept looking for something to compare it with anyway. Suddenlythe Curse of Immediate Gratification lifted. Suddenly you were grantedyour exit visa and could leave for Big Lights Bright City but didn’twant to. Suddenly being an American in America seemed like a prettygood idea. Suddenly everyone latched on to your philosophy of neverdoing the same dance step twice and you were hailed as a great liberator.Suddenly the procession took a sharp right into the private courtyardof the Clown King and all Hell broke loose. Suddenly surrender seemedso perfunctory as to be ludicrous and surviving so real as to be surreal.Suddenly there was another sham-o-rama mythology wrapped in syntheticpathos and held together by dung-flavored gum that needed to be debunked.Suddenly Lotto Mentality nosed out Work Ethic on the backstretch ofthe decade and the tote board lit up and everybody who won gathered uptheir filthy lucre and got out of your way. Suddenly the elevator stoppedbetween the 20th and 21st centuries. Suddenly we counted ourselvesamong the unvanquished. Suddenly lives without middles merged inmiracles. Suddenly the thrill was back, stronger than ever.

A COMMON MAN

I’m a common man, a lunkhead, a stumbling predator, a devoteeof bitter indulgences. Just an ordinary guy with some extremely friskydemons, an intimate with certain angels, and on speaking terms with mypersonal version of God. I’m a flaunter of basic virtue, a victim ofluminescent tragedy, an occasional calamity of exuberance, an unskilleddreamer, a squirming statistic. I’m a magenta hombre, a toxic tactician,a refuge from convenient reason, a slobbering suitor, a recent visitor,the midnight ranter at rest in the warm afternoon sun. I’m a churninghunk of frenetic funk, a misprogrammed meat torpedo, rock and roll in arented tuxedo, a brain with a food hole, a high performance heart withno brakes. I’m King Shit Deluxe, Kid Avalanche, Jumpcity Geronimo.I’m the fool who just wishes he was tired. The boy next door...who younever see because I’m kept locked in a closet. A quiet man with anelaborate arsenal. I’m the karma chameleon who’s grown up to be adragon lizard, the former lizard poet who now could use a steady job.I’m Mr. Wonderful miscast as a miasma of memory and menace. I’m justa happily married man, a Prudential agent suddenly possessed by thespirit of Howling Wolf. “You gotta do/ what you gotta do/ to protect/your family/ you fam-i-lyyyyyy...yeah..” I’m a common man, a consensussweetheart, a condescending adult, a fugitive from the do-not-file file,an exile from every Main Street from Naples to Nantucket, Goos Bay toOzone Park. I drinks whiskey when I’m thirsty but only eats zucchiniif I’m drunk. I labor to control my destiny, struggle to meet mysimple needs, try to manage more dangerous impulses. I’m quick-tempered, wrong-hearted, short-sighted, but I want to be right, I acheto be good, and I’m trying, so help me, I’m trying.

INTRODUCING THE MANIAC SAINTS

There we were winging it through the Wonder Years, fugitivesfrom the Wampum Wars, fearless exiles with self-proclaimed exemptions,enchanted deadbeats barhopping down the Bunny trail toward the BlueAbsolutely. These were the Halcyon days of Vitality upon Demand.And fortified by mega-doses of Instant On and Virtue on the half-shell,we, the Perpetual Celebrants and Private Comedians sashayed forth withgreat intensity, determined to save the world and win valuable prizeswhile getting paid to have fun. We were almost grown and fullyrealized, on a divine mission to rid the world of corrupt bop, hostileboogie, and wicked melody; to rescue the music from the distortion ofthe dangerous times. In the course of our travels we would assaultthe sultry agitator, seduce the splendid beasties with verses, andbedazzle the reluctant co-conspirator with our mystical energy andhomeboy chutzpuh. We were the ultimate sensibility commandoes,the Kali-baiters, the annihilation professionals, the wanton vigilanteswho stalked the Death Angel through the gardens and knolls, the alleysand arroyos. We were the fools hired to make Moloch feel lucky!They dared us to live forever and we were just crazy enough to try.

SNAPSVILLE (2)

I tell you, I was feeling fragile, Nigel. Like I had a headfull of Digel. I tell you, I was living on Digel, Night-All, and a fearof Hell at the Anywhere-but-Here Motel. Didn’t have a Canadiannickel to my name. Didn’t even have a name... sold it to an Australianfist-fucker for a Fosters. Or was he a Tasmanian fear-fluxer? APhilistine phudpucker? A Filipino pud-puller? Oh poop and pee,why should it matter to me? I mean does it bother you?... I meanreally get to you? Gee, you’re lucky, it really drives me nuts. Theother day was as clear as of say can you see, and I was walkingaround downtown as the offices were getting out of work. I’d feltmuch disturbo all day-o... daaaaaaayyy-ooo, say can you see, oh...Anyway, I was noting the state of the strange and without thinkingstarted singing this song. It’s called Administrative Assistants WalkingTo The Parking Lot and if I can get the Talking Heads to do it I’d makeenough moolah to make Moloch meow. I was working on it on a benchwatching the parade. I love to watch people get off work, but don’tunderstand why they don’t all kiss the turf when they clear the lastguardbooth. I abhor work. But now that I don’t have any I’m realpoor, scraping by with just enough for a pint of low-test per diem.This would all soon change. I was making hundreds of notes for mysong. Administrative assistants...in tight skirts...in short skirts...in slit skirts...walking to the parking lot...Computer programmers...with fuck me pumps...with visible panty lines...walking to the parkinglot...Staff attorney ...with mean expressions...and chubby ankles...walking...walking...walking...walking to the parking lots...Life is hot...Is it not?...for administrative assistants walking to the parking lot. All the while I was noticing that the time and temperature signwas completely out of whack. I looked up at 4:46 and it was 81,then at 4:47 it was 84. At 4:48 it was 87, and 4:49 it was 82. Thisis exactly the sort of thing that crazy people say “they” do to themto drive them crazy. At 4:51 it was down to 79, at 4:52 it was 81 again,and at 4:53 it was an even 90... a record for this date. Have you ever noticed what life does? How it moves along likea broken surf board down the Snapsville Viaduct? It can be so extra-vagantly serious. So flamboyantly real. Fantabulously formidable.Then it’s a complete zilch. Zed. Absolute zero. Zuma Beach at dawn,and you’re thinking of swimming to Samoa. I can’t stand it. I longfor imposed order, for the dignity of form, continuity of expression...But this shit... 5:06 and it’s 76. and I looked at my watch and it was a quarterto nine and I was dancing with a woman who was twice my size... reelingand a rocking. Reeling and rocking with reality on a late summer after-noon. 5:11 and I’m halfway to Heaven watching managerial womenwith soiled panty hose and secret fantasies walking to the parking lot.Parking lots so full of cars, red cars, police cars... third one in fiveminutes. 5:17 and it’s time to split the scene, 74 degrees and droppingand I’m bopping. Splitting the bench, this life, getting out of Snapsville...Technical writers in mauve blouses with one unbuttoned button toomany exposing the top of her pale bra walking to the parking lot...

SNAPSVILLE (3)

I was feeling like a smushed spaniel, Daniel. And my maternalmama didn’t raise any confounded bottom-feeder. But I sure seemed tobe snorkeling for crumbs. Toiling for t-shirts. Salivating for subsistence.Drooling for dinero. I was tired of being a marginal yahoo with nothingto do but cruise for stew washed down by an imaginary brew or twoand think about you. Whoever you are. Or were. Or could’ve been. Ifelt like I’d been double-crossed, triple-gelded, and left to sing my shamedown a stinkhole. I felt like a mushed mix-breed mutt in a dog eatgazpacho world. So rejected I barely qualified as a furball. I was justone, puny, non-malignant polyp completely ignored amidst the greaterbody of disease. The world was full of serious illness and I was just aminor irritation, like mange. I felt like an imploded poodle, a microwavedminiature Schnauzer. No blue ribbon for this boy bowser. I’d beenneutered and excluded. I’m one sick puppy, Pablo. More barf than bite,one lonely foamer, no yummies for me. No rhinestone collar. I feltlike singing “How much is that doggie in the dumpster?/ the onewith three legs and no tail...” Just let me know when the guy with thedart gun is coming and I’ll hoist my rump into the wind.

THE RELENTLESS ROMP (accompanied by The Ventures’ Walk Don’t Run)

Well, we dance loud while standing still, and think best whileswinging sledge hammers. We insult the slackmasters, rock with thewizards of angst, and celebrate finding lollypops in the snow. Weare the sentimental guys left in charge of the evacuation plans, thestoned soldiers left to preside over the lost cities. We’re the sweetheartword-crunchers laboring to explain the true nature of the RelentlessRomp. We sing: “Minute by minute/ we’re deeper within it/ Minuteby minute/ we’re closer to it.” Somehow we have propelled ourselvesfrom accident to interlude, from breakthrough to secret passion to manicabsolution to final argument. We try to maintain our good nature, ourlove of well being, our simple kindness. We try to proceed rather thanwallow, to laugh rather than screech. We’re the ones who fall down theStairway to Heaven backwards while carrying a drink and never spill adrop. We realize we have a few problems. We also realize we are fullof love, and that others love us, though not usually in the way we’dprefer. We know that since we can’t get out of it, we might as wellkeep doing it. To go as if we knew where we were going. To do as ifwe knew what we were doing. Onward and upward, through the fog andacross the night, the relentless romp, the relentless romp, the relentlessromp.

ONE OF THOSE FEELINGS

It was one of those eerie feelings. I just knew that somewheresomeone was singing Me And Booby McGee about me as she did her laundryor graded homework or wrote out checks for bills I ran up. Ah yes, Ithought as I flopped on the motel bed and took another deep gulp ofTennessee Instant Enlightened Formula, FREEDOM! It felt like an icepick in the tail-bone.